Some Kind of Fairytale
by Erinya
Summary: A princess, a ball, a handsome prince, and the faithful lieutenant by the princess's side. We all know how this story ends, right? Unfortunately, DG has a tendency to go off script. DGxCain. Complete.


**Disclaimer**: Belongs to Skiffy, which stole it from L. Frank Baum.  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Pairing**: DG/Cain  
**Summary**: A princess, a ball, a handsome prince, and the faithful lieutenant by the princess's side. We all know how this story goes, right? Unfortunately, DG has a tendency to go off script. A little angst, but not nearly so bad as usual.  
**Note**: So, because I'm supposed to be studying for finals, my brain wants to write ALL KINDS OF FIC. Then I stupidly watched Tin Man last night and it was all over. Boo, brain. You suck. But hey, fic!

* * *

**Some Kind of Fairytale**

He promised a good man who is now dead that he'd stay by DG's side, and he does. It's his duty now, of course, as Captain of the Royal Guard. If he had his choice, he'd probably rather have returned to his post as a Tin Man. But he'd promised, and she asked him to, and so it was.

He's never really been able to tell her no. Not from that first moment on the road, though he tried his level best to walk away. She overpowers him. Those wide blue eyes and sweet, open face show her every passing mood, but hide her strength. The light that saved a world, that unlocks closed places and wakes dead orchards into bloom.

When she smiles, he almost knows how that tree felt.

* * *

She doesn't, she tells him one day, think she makes much of a princess. 

They're out for a ride, which they do nearly every day, because (she says) it's the only way she can get away with wearing trousers without anybody frowning at her for her improper mode of dress.

("Look at these things!" she giggled, the first day she'd worn her newly tailored riding pants. "They're almost as tight in the ass as yours." And between the implication that she'd been looking, and the suggestion that he look at _her_ pert behind, he didn't know where to look or what to say. "That bad, huh?" she said, softly, and he'd cleared his throat and said, no, she looked just fine, and could they get going already? And she laughed at him, and called him a cranky old Tin Man, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek like a little girl.

She often leaves him feeling slightly stunned, but just then he stood frozen, as if he really were made of rusted tin.)

"I never _wanted_ to be a princess, you know?" she's saying now, and he makes a noise like he's been listening and drops his hand from his cheek. "I guess I never really thought about it. Maybe because the Queen--I mean, Mother had done such a good job of locking up all my memories of having been one. I was never into the Disney princesses or anything. I thought they were all pretty useless and empty-headed, worrying about princes and balls and magic slippers." She snorts. "Me, I liked the Transformers. But now I'm thinking Cinderella might have been educational! Did you know there's a ball next month? And the Prince of... oh, some country I can't begin to pronounce is going to be there. I don't even know how to waltz!"

"I'm sure Glitch can teach you," he says, picking out the one bit of this monologue that makes some hint of sense. "He'd probably be overjoyed to show off his dancing skills."

"I don't know if I can _learn_," she says. "Cain, you don't understand. I fix engines! And ride motorcycles. And hit things with sticks. I'm not very good at being a girl. Now, Az can face whole battalions of suitors without batting an eyelash, but the silly boys won't court _her_ because they're all still scared stiff of her, even though she's ten times prettier than me."

"Suitors," he says, blankly.

"Yes, suitors," she says. "Haven't you heard a thing I've been saying? I've gotten three proposals of marriage by letter already, sight unseen. It's ridiculous."

It's...something. He's not entirely sure what. "Aren't you a little young to get married, kiddo?"

"Mother doesn't think so." She frowns at him. "I'm not _that_ young," she says. "You make it sound like I'm thirteen or something."

"So how old are you?"

"Old enough and not that innocent," she retorts. "Cain, I know it's your job and all to bristle protectively, but two dads is plenty. I don't need another one."

"I thought you didn't want to get married."

"I _don't_," she says, with vast and inexplicable irritation, and kicks her horse into a gallop, racing away from him. He follows more slowly, trying not to think about what she means by "not that innocent."

* * *

"Cain," she says from the top of the staircase, and he turns. 

Her gown is cornflower blue, like her eyes, and her eyes are bright as the sky. There's a jewel winking at the hollow of her throat, and in each earlobe; her hair is piled in a complicated structure atop her head, woven through with more tiny jewels and topped with a jeweled coronet.

It's the evening of the ball, and he wonders how she could possibly think that her sister is a prettier girl. DG_ shines_.

"Do I look really bad?" she says anxiously. "I can never tell what you're thinking."

"You look..." But words fail him. "You look like a princess."

She grimaces. "I feel like I'm trussed and ready for slaughter. Would you come up here and help me down these stairs? I'm not sure I can make it in this skirt and these shoes without killing myself."

He climbs the stairs silently, offers his arm. She takes it, grips it tightly as they negotiate her descent. When they reach the bottom, she doesn't let go. He looks down at her; their eyes meet, and they both stand still.

"Dance with me," DG says suddenly.

"What?"

"You heard me." A note of challenge in her voice now.

"I don't dance."

"I don't believe you," she says. "Come on. Please. I need to practice."

"For your Prince?"

"Oh,_ him_," she says, disdainfully. "No. For my own dignity. I haven't waltzed in this costume yet and I'm afraid I'll fall on my face."

"There's no music," he points out.

"We don't need it," she says, facing him and taking one of his hands firmly in her own, guiding the other to her slender waist before placing the hand not holding his on the brocade shoulder of his dress uniform. "Ready?"

He shakes his head. She's close enough so he can smell her scent, apple blossoms and sunshine; the tops of her small breasts swell out of the gown's absurdly low neckline. He drags his gaze back to her eyes, and she smiles, sudden and brilliant.

"I _command_ you to dance with me," she says, and hums the first few notes of a familiar melody in light, sweet tones.

It's been more than ten annuals since he spun Adora around their front room until she was dizzy and breathless with laughter. But this is a different kind of dance, and he holds DG carefully as he moves her across the floor. He can waltz well enough not to step on her toes, at least. For her part, she bites her lip in concentration and drops her eyes to their feet.

"This would work better if you stopped trying to lead," he says after a minute or so.

She flushes guiltily and misses a step. "I'm sorry! I didn't realize what I was doing." She looks up at him, almost accusing. "I thought you said you couldn't dance."

"I said I _didn't_ dance."

"Looks like you do now."

"At my lady's command," he says dryly.

"Oh," she says, and stops.

"What's wrong?"

"I was joking," she mutters. "I forgot that you _had_ to--I mean, I hoped you'd want to. Or that you wouldn't mind, at least."

"I don't," he says. She's still in his arms, almost. He's not sure what to do, so he drops her hand, letting her go; she rocks back a step.

"I miss the way things were before," she says fiercely. "I miss us being friends, Cain. Equals. Remember that? I didn't ask to be a princess! As far as I'm concerned, you and I are exactly what we've always been."

And then she turns and runs out of the room. He notices she doesn't hesitate or stumble.

He doesn't go after her. What would he tell her? Certainly he can't say that something _has_ changed between them, that they're not exactly what they were before, and that it has very little to do with the fact that she's a princess and he's only a Tin Man.

* * *

The ballroom pulses with noise and light, crowded with colorfully dressed dignitaries attending fantastically coiffed ladies. To the revelers, he's invisible, another part of the palace scenery; a uniformed fixture, a decorative show of force. He finds himself wishing himself almost anywhere else. 

Instead, he watches DG dancing with the prince. She's smiling up at him and she's remembered, so far, to let him lead. Prince Jorgo is not too many annuals older than her, and he wears a blue coat; they match as well as if someone has planned it. Probably somebody has. He looks like a pleasant enough fellow, although Cain notes he has a decidedly weak chin.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" someone murmurs, close beside him. Cain starts slightly, hand going for his pistol, but it's only Glitch, looking as absurdly pleased with himself as if he's made DG to order.

"Who?" he says, one eye still on the two figures in blue.

"You know who," Glitch says, giving him one of those keen glances that belie his lack of brain. "And to think that just a few months ago she was running around the O.Z. in dungarees brandishing sticks at people."

"Hmm," Cain says. The prince and princess have finished their dance, and DG leads Jorgo aside to where Azkadellia stands in a little empty circle, as if by magic. Introductions are made, the prince kisses Azkadellia's hand after a meaningful glare from DG, and a servant brings them all drinks of emerald green.

"That was well-done," Glitch says. "Poor girl--no one can quite forget what she's been, can they? I must admit, I get a bit jumpy myself when she's near." He says it mildly, but for a moment his eyes go wide and blank. "I get a bit jumpy myself--"

"Yeah, you and me both." Everyone knows now that Azkadellia wasn't herself when she had the O.Z. pinned beneath one stiletto heel, but she looks the same and speaks with the same voice, even though she has either gained a better taste in gowns or dresses these days under advisement from Glitch. She has a brittleness about her, and shadows in her eyes; and well she might, a little girl who's seen too many terrible things and done most of them herself. She holds the pieces together admirably, but he knows that kind of broken all too well: it's the kind that doesn't get fixed, only mended, and the cracks will always be there for those who know to look for them. Still, he can't forget whose orders the Longcoats moved under when they came for his family, and he thinks the worst of it is that she can't either.

But now the young prince has a princess on each arm; DG is laughing delightedly, and Azkadellia smiles like she's trying.

"Yes, our DG certainly has a gift," says Glitch, thoughtfully. "Makes me feel like I have half a brain in my head, sometimes. I believe it must be a function of her magical abilities. Bringing light to dark places, and so on."

"No," Cain says. "It's just _her_." Lighting dark places, and making broken things feel whole. They may be her subjects, her servants, but they're the ones who need her badly. She's the force that holds them all together.

"Perhaps it is, at that," says Glitch, with another knowing glance that Cain pretends he doesn't see.

DG's flirting outrageously with the Prince now, leaning heavily on his arm, but for a moment her eyes dart straight across the room to Cain; whatever challenge she issued earlier still stands. He drops his gaze; when he looks back up, she has half-turned away from him, engaged in some apparently lively narration. Jorgo smiles, bemused, and Azkadellia laughs outright for the first time since the eclipse.

* * *

"Oh, there you are," Azkadellia says. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I need your help with Deege." 

For a second Cain can't figure out who she means. _Oh, yeah. Sisterly pet names._ He glances across to the couches, where DG is ensconced with Jorgo, the faithful escort, deep in what appears to be serious conversation. "Seems like she's doing just fine to me."

"Fine? Hardly." Azkadellia makes a face. "She's had far too much wine and she's been saying the most startling things."

"She does that when she's sober," Cain says, frowning at the couple on the couch.

"Well, it's worse when she's drunk. Jorgo doesn't know whether to fall head over heels or run for the hills, and I'm afraid she's going to do something rash and embarrass herself. Not to mention perpetrate a diplomatic crisis."

Cain has no idea what she's talking about—his brand of politics is the kind practiced while holding the opposition at gunpoint—but it sounds worrying. "I don't do diplomacy," he says. "Wouldn't Glitch--?"

"No," she says instantly. "You. And believe me, I don't do diplomacy either. I never had to before." She looks a little bit desperate, and yet there's some odd note in her voice, as if the whole situation is also somehow desperately funny. He follows her warily across the floor.

"Deege," Azkadellia says, touching her sister's shoulder gently.

"Hi, Az," DG says. "I was just telling Jorgo…Cain!" She focuses on his face with some difficulty, struggling upwards off the couch. Azkadellia grabs her arm to keep her from toppling over, but DG shrugs her off and throws her arms around Cain. "I missed you," she slurs into his neck. "I wanted to dance with you again."

Azkadellia's eyes meet Cain's over DG's head. "You see?" she says grimly.

DG's hair is coming down, and stray jewels trail across his shoulder. "What should I do with her?" he demands, panicked, his arms full of warm girl. DG leans into him with a small noise of contentment.

"Take her upstairs and tuck her into bed," Azkadellia says. "Give her some water. Try to keep her out of any more trouble. I'll stay here and entertain the Prince."

"Is Her Highness well?" Jorgo is enquiring, all polite concern, and Azkadellia turns to him with a bright social smile.

"She'll be perfectly all right, Prince Jorgo. I'm afraid she's not used to our stronger spirits here, coming from the Other Side like she does."

"Really? I've heard that the wines from the south—"

"DG," Cain says sharply, under the royals' discussion of vintages, and shakes her slightly. "DG! Look at me."

"Hmm?" But she lifts her head, frowning a little. "What is it? Are you mad at me, Cain?"

"No, I'm not mad," he says. "But you're being very silly, and everyone's watching."

She sniffs. "Like I care what they think. Why should you?"

"I generally don't," he says. "Your sister and your mother and your father all do, though. So does Glitch. You're a princess, remember?"

"Am I?" she says vaguely. "What a drag."

Abandoning this tack as useless, he takes a cautious step back. She sways, but stays upright, staring at him with those enormous eyes, which are even more blue than usual. Perhaps it's the dress, or possibly the drunkenness. "You all right?" he says, and she nods, a bit uncertainly. "Good. Here, take my arm. We're going to go for a walk."

"Okay."

He steers her slowly off the dance floor; people part way for them, murmuring farewells. She waves to them graciously, only stumbling a little. When they make it out the door and it shuts, cutting off the noise and the light, they both breathe a sigh of relief.

"I think," she says, enunciating with care, "that I may have had a little too much to drink."

"I think you may be right," he says gravely.

"You're making fun of me," she grumbles. "S'not my fault, you know. I wasn't allowed to have alcohol back in Nebraska. Was against the law." She lurches dangerously, so that he has to grab her around the waist to hold her up. "It's nice, though," she adds.

"You're not going to think so in the morning."

"No, but s'nice _now_." She leans her head on his shoulder again, her steps slowing. "Can I just sit down for a minute? I feel kind of…floaty."

"I can see we're not going to get very far this way," he says, eying her.

"Why? Where are we going?"

"Bed," he says succinctly, scooping her up. She squeaks, then twines her arms around his neck as if it's the most natural thing in the world. She's a tiny thing, and he can carry her like a child; he reminds himself firmly that she's not very much more than one.

"I could get used to this, you know," she mutters drowsily as he picks his way up the stairs. "Maybe I should get drunk more often."

"Yeah, I don't know about that one, kid."

"Not a kid," she protests.

"Not old enough to know better, either." She can't be any older than Jeb, and there's just so much wrong with that thought when she's looking at him the way she is right now.

Oh, _damn_.

"I already told you," she says softly. "I'm old enough to know a _lot_ more than you think."

Luckily he's reached her chambers by now; he puts his shoulder to the door to push it open, setting her on her feet as quickly as he can. Except her arms are still locked around his neck; she doesn't seem at all steady, and really, he doesn't feel exactly steady either.

"Cain," she says, and the way she says his name makes him still, inside and out, except for the light and heat that rushes through him, as if he's not hollow and echoing with the sudden knock of his heart against his ribs.

And then she pulls his mouth down to meet hers, open and sweet and warm like everything she is, like everything he isn't. He wonders if she tastes bitterness and rust; but when they break apart at last, her eyes are shining.

"DG," he says, shaken. Wants to ask her what she thinks she's doing, and why. But he knows. They both do, now.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," she says, and there's that challenge again. She sounds much more sober than she had a minute ago, he thinks distractedly.

"DG, I—"

"What?"

"It's complicated," he says, finally, lamely. It's not right, it's too soon, she's too young, he's too broken. And yet.

"I know," she whispers, and raises her fingers to lightly stroke his cheek, cups his face in her palm. "My Tin Man. I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says, and just to be sure she's not, he kisses her again. Because it's complicated, and it's wrong, and maybe politically disastrous, but maybe it doesn't have to be. Maybe it's all really simple.

Maybe it doesn't matter.

"Oh," she says, when he stops kissing her this time, and he takes her hands from his shoulders, folds them in his own.

"I should go," he says.

"You should," she agrees. "What if I asked you to stay?"

"You shouldn't," he says, and she sighs. "Not like this, DG. Have mercy, and respect an old man's scruples. You're drunk and I'm only human."

"I never would have guessed," she says, with a quirk of a smile. She lifts his hand to her lips. "All right then. Go. Before I change my mind."

And before he changes his. "You'll be all right?"

"I'm fine, Cain," she says. Then she grins. "Unless you're offering to help me out of this dumb dress."

"No," he says, and flees in all haste.

* * *

Someone stirs in the shadows as he turns the corner of the hall; he stiffens when he sees her face, then carefully controls his reaction. "Azkadellia." 

"Is she in bed?"

"I hope so."

He doesn't realize he's running a finger over his lower lip until he sees the princess see it. "So she did kiss you," Azkadellia says, with satisfaction.

"She—" He stares at her. "You planned this?"

She lifts one lovely shoulder in a shrug. "I only told her that if she was waiting for you to kiss her, she'd probably wait the rest of her life."

It stings like truth. "So you decided to provide the opportunity."

"Are you complaining?"

He scowls at her. "What was she talking to the prince about before you called me over?"

"Telling him all about your adventures together." Azkadellia shakes her head, mischief sparking in her eyes. "'And then Cain came galloping up on a white horse,' and so on. I don't think the poor boy left with much hope for his prospects."

"And they told me you weren't evil any more," he says, and then wishes he'd bitten his tongue. He wasn't trying to hurt her.

But she only smirks. "They also say old habits die hard." And she glides past him towards her sister's room.

* * *

"I know what I want," DG tells him the next morning, without preamble, as they ride out from the Tower. She seems none the worse for her excesses the night before; he wonders if she and Azkadellia can magic a hangover away. Seems like a handy trick, but in his opinion she'd be better off suffering the consequences. 

"Even when you're drunk?"

"Especially when I'm drunk," she says, laughing. Then she grows serious again. "Cain, you need time. I understand that. But you should know that what I want isn't likely to change."

"That's good to know."

"So when you figure out what you want," she says, "I'll be here."

He glances across at her, and she looks back, stubborn and determined as the day they met. "I think," he says slowly, "that I already have. But…"

"But it's complicated," she says. "I'm aware. I'm okay with complicated."

"No," he says. "No, I was wrong. It's very simple, after all."

His heart's a long way from whole, it's true. But sometimes, like now, he thinks she might have enough heart for the both of them.


End file.
